That day, when Grand Empress Dowager Chen learned that Gu Huaiyu had been ousted by a public vote, she had stormed off in a fit of rage. She left the Son of Heaven with only one icy command: “Within three days, you will go and invite Chancellor Gu back. If you cannot bring him back, then you shall kneel before his gates and beg for his forgiveness.”
After speaking her piece, she shuttered her doors to chant sutras, refusing to see anyone.
Today was the final deadline.
Over these past three days, the capital had been turned upside down.
First, the Grand Empress Dowager’s phoenix carriage had returned to the palace. Then, the truth behind the Treatise on Statecraft came to light: Qin Zijin was executed, Grand Preceptor Dong was sent into exile, and the Pure Stream Faction vanished overnight.
Furthermore, the Court of Judicial Review had released a public notice. With evidence as solid as a mountain, it confirmed that Chancellor Gu had spent years acting as a scapegoat for the throne’s failures.
The scholars and literati, who had once been divided in their praise and scorn for the Chancellor, no longer dared to speak a single flippant word.
Some felt pity, others felt remorse, but most felt a profound sense of awe and submission.
To be able to carry the crushing weight of the Great Chen Dynasty while facing the criticism of the court and the curses of the nation—such grit and forbearance were rare in all the world.
By this point, no one inside or outside the court dared to oppose the “Invitation for the Chancellor’s Return.” It could even be said that everyone—from the Son of Heaven to the commoners, from the nobility to the lowliest clerks—was waiting for that man’s return.
Yet, the stifling gloom in Yuan Zhuo’s heart had not yet dissipated.
Though Qin Zijin had been punished, the Emperor had spent these past few days in sleepless regret. His heart and mind were full of his Huaiyu Gege, yet he realized he had never truly seen the truth behind the man’s burden.
He, as a son, knew his father’s character better than anyone.
What shred of imperial talent did that man have? Emperor Rui had been a man obsessed with wine and women, a man who squandered wealth without limit.
And yet, for nine years, Great Chen had maintained a surface-level peace where the people lived and worked in contentment.
That wasn’t the blessing of the Yuan family’s ancestors.
Yuan Zhuo didn’t even need the Grand Empress Dowager to force him. If anyone in the capital wanted Gu Huaiyu back the most, it was him.
However, he didn’t want to show up at the door like a reckless child at this critical juncture, crying and screaming for his brother to come home like a weanling.
He had intended to wait until every shred of truth was uncovered before solemnly inviting Gu Huaiyu back. He hadn’t expected Nie Jin of the Court of Judicial Review to strike first.
The Document of Vindication had struck like a thunderclap, exposing the Late Emperor’s muddled incompetence and absurdities for all to see.
The elders of the Yuan clan had rushed into the palace overnight, weeping and begging the Emperor to punish Nie Jin and retract the notice to preserve the imperial family’s dignity.
“Dignity?” Yuan Zhuo had sneered in a cold rage. “Without the Chancellor, the nation would have fallen long ago. What dignity is there to speak of?”
He didn’t stop the notice. Instead, he secretly ordered people to transcribe and send copies of the Document of Vindication to every province, prefecture, and county office, ensuring that more people would know the truth.
In an instant, from the high halls of power to the city markets, everyone knew—the so-called “treacherous Chancellor” was merely a man who had spent nine years taking the blame for a faint-hearted monarch.
The noon sun was just right when the imperial procession arrived at the foot of Wolong Mountain. The grand entourage stretched for miles, with dragon banners fluttering and hundreds of officials following in a magnificent display of power.
The mountain paths were already lined with commoners who had gathered to watch, their whispers rising and falling like the tide.
“Stop.”
A soft command echoed from within the imperial carriage as a slender hand lifted the curtain.
Yuan Zhuo leaped down with the impatient grace of a youth. However, when he looked toward the mountain peak, his expression suddenly turned solemn. He meticulously adjusted his robes and headgear.
Eunuch Xu, a man who had seen many storms, asked calmly, “Your Majesty, what are you…?”
Yuan Zhuo snatched the lacquered tray from his hands. Upon it lay the Chancellor’s official robes, the black gauze cap, and the heavy official seal, all arranged neatly.
Holding the tray in both hands, he began to stride up the stone steps. “I shall walk up.”
The Emperor personally walking up a mountain to retrieve an official—this was an unprecedented sight in history.
Which of the officials would dare remain in their sedan chairs? One after another, they dismounted their horses and stepped out of their carriages, following behind the Emperor on foot in their proper ranks.
the long line of officials wound up the mountain like a wandering dragon. Their purple and crimson robes were exceptionally striking against the lush green of the mountain; from the base, it looked like a ribbon of color piercing the clouds.
Yuan Zhuo walked steadily, the tray in his hands perfectly still. He radiated the dignified earnestness of a young sovereign.
He wanted Gu Huaiyu to see that he was no longer the boy who needed protection, no longer the fledgling hiding under the Chancellor’s wing.
He was a monarch capable of standing side-by-side with Gu Huaiyu.
The gates of the villa were wide open, as if the master already knew a distinguished guest would arrive today.
The courtyard was empty. Yuan Zhuo looked neither left nor right, walking straight through the front court until he reached the doors of the main hall.
He came to a sudden halt at the threshold.
The man in the hall was still dressed in simple white—the same clothes he had worn on the day he resigned. He was leaning casually back in a high-backed armchair.
Seeing the Emperor arrive, Gu Huaiyu merely tilted his chin up slightly, showing no intention of standing.
Pei Jingyi was even more audacious. He stood behind Gu Huaiyu with his arms crossed. Not only did he fail to kneel upon seeing the Son of Heaven, but a playful, taunting smirk also danced on his lips.
The sight of that smile set Yuan Zhuo’s blood boiling. He gripped the tray so hard his knuckles turned white, forcing down his inner fire.
He stepped forward, bowing as he raised the tray to the level of his brows. “I invite the Chancellor to return to court.”
His voice was tight, his vocal cords trembling slightly. Only he knew that his heart was currently screaming the words “Huaiyu Gege.”
His Huaiyu Gege had never changed.
Gu Huaiyu was well-versed in handling such formalities. He reached out and lightly brushed the Emperor’s arm in a gesture of support. “For Your Majesty to show such great courtesy makes this subject feel quite apprehensive.”
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